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Updated: June 10, 2025
It was quite dark, and as he sat eating his breakfast, with the lantern in front of him on the table, he kept looking at the three little ones, in bed. They were all in a heap like young birds. "When Povl has to join them, we'll have to put two at each end," he said thoughtfully. "Better still, if we could afford another bed." There was no answer from Sörine.
"Just like little Povl when he's eating porridge; he scrapes the top off too." But Lars Peter growled. "Eat it all up, you old skeleton," said he. "These aren't times to pick and choose." The nag would answer with a long affectionate whinny, and go on as before. At last Lars Peter would get up and go to the manger, mixing the straw together in the middle.
Oh dear, Povl had dropped his bread and dripping in the sand but he picked it up again and ran on, eating as he went. "It'll clean him inside," said Ditte, laughing to herself. They were mad, simply mad digging in the sand and racing about! They had never been like this before. She was glad of the change herself.
He had got hold of the remains of an old perambulator which his father had brought home, and was busy mending it, for the little ones to ride in. Wheels were put on axles, now only the body remained to be fixed. The two little ones stood breathlessly watching him. Povl chattered away, and wanted to help, every other moment his little hands interfered and did harm.
Ditte gathered berries and sold them in the market, ran errands, fetched water and sticks, and looked after the sheep, carrying fat little Povl wherever she went. He cried if she left him behind, and she was quite crooked with carrying him. Autumn was the worst time for the children.
"'Twas only little Povl crying; but how can they make silk of glass?" asked she suddenly, "glass is so brittle!" "Ay, 'tis the new-fashioned silk though, and may be true enough. If you see a scrap of silk amongst the rags 'tis nearly always broken." "And what queer thing's glass made of?" "Ay, you may well ask that if I could only tell you.
But now the disagreeable task was over, and there would be no more of it for another week; childish tears dry quickly, and their little faces beamingly met the day. Little Povl was last ready. Ditte could hardly keep him on the chair, as she put the finishing touches he was anxious to be out. "Well, what d'you say to sister?" she asked, when he was done, offering her mouth.
"You'll have to give up your foolish ways, and running off when you're vexed with any one," said she. "Remember, you're the eldest; it'll be your fault if Povl and sister turn out badly! They've nobody but you to look to now. And stop teasing old Jacob, it's a shame to do it." Kristian promised everything he had the best will in the world. Only he could never remember to keep his good resolutions.
Lars Peter looked at her in blank despair. "The children shouted it after me today. They asked if I wouldn't like a dead cat to make sausages." "Ay, I thought as much," he laughed miserably. "Well, we can do without them, what the devil do I want with them!" he shouted so loudly that little Povl began to cry. "Hush now, I didn't mean to frighten you," Lars Peter took him in his arms.
But sister helped him to finish, and then it was happily over. Kristian had gulped his share in a couple of spoonfuls, and stood by the door, ready to run off to the beach already longing for something new. They were each given a red apple, and shown politely to the door; the old couple were tired. Povl put his cheek on the old woman's skirt. "Me likes you!" said he. "God bless you, little one!
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